globalnook

In Memory of Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

     O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
     But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play-

                                                                                    From "Tommy"

Mother's day

(The following short story is a reprint from Globalnook's Mother's Day edition of last year. It was written to honor mothers throughout the world on their special day.)

                                                               **************

        Robert Allman, dressed in his best Sunday suit, sat quietly in the front seat of the family car while his wife drove.

    “Now Bob, I’m going to drop you off at the corner,” the wife instructed. “Go to Waldrop's Drugs and get three roses…Two red and one white.”

      “Yes, dear,” Robert replied.

      “What’s the difference, mama?” little Johnny asked from the back seat.

    “On Mother’s Day, you wear a red rose to church if your mother is alive,” the wife continued. “If your mother is dead, you wear a white one…. You and I will wear red. Your father will wear white.”

       “Oh,” little Johnny replied thoughtfully.

       The car stopped at the corner down from the drug store.

       Robert started to get out.

       “Dad!” little Johnny said. “Get me some jawbreakers. Two sour grape and three lemon. OK?”

       The child’s father nodded then started to get out again.

       “Dad!” the son called again.

       The father stopped again.

     “Don’t let her tell you she doesn’t have any lemon,” the son said. ”I was in there Friday morning. The lemons are in the front corner of the big candy case.”

       “Ok.” the father said.

       Robert started to get out again.

       “Bob!” the wife summoned.

       The husband stopped again.

       “Tell Alma I said “Hi!”

       The husband nodded and started to get out again.

       “Don’t forget!” Johnny called from the back seat. “Two sour grape and three lemon… OK?”

      “Ok. Ok.” The father said. “Can I get out now?”

    “Yeah… Get out! Go on!” the wife said impatiently, urging her husband out of car, “And hurry up. We don’t want to be late for church on Mother’s Day.

      Robert got out of the car and slammed the door.

      Then, after watching the car move down the street, he turned and started walking the half-block to the drug store.

      “Good morning, Bob,” the clerk greeted as he walked in.

      “Morning, Alma,” Robert started, “I need three roses. Two reds and one white.”

      “Let me see what I have,” she said moving to the flower cooler. “The white is for you?”

      Robert nodded.

      “My mother is passed on too” the woman said. “I miss her so much.”

      He watched as the woman searched through the bunches of roses.

      “Yeah, I lost my mother nine years ago,” he replied sadly. “I’d give anything on this earth to see her again”.

      “I’m sorry,” the woman said finally, “But I’m out of whites.”

      He pondered for a second.

    “Well…” he sighed indecisively. “Give me a red. I’ve got to wear something…. And I want some jawbreakers. Two sour grape and three lemon.”

      The clerk gathered the jawbreakers and roses and handed them to her customer.

      “That’ll be $3.50” she said.

      Robert Allman paid the clerk.

      “Thanks, Alma,” he said.

    Outside on the street again, he looked at the three red roses. They were rich, fully-petaled flowers. For a moment, he wondered what his wife would think, then he started walking back down the street.

      “Robert!” a voice called nearby.

      He stopped and turned to the sound of the voice. Before him stood a small, elderly woman with a warm smile.

      “Oh my God!” he said, jumping back in fright and staring in disbelief.

      For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

      “Mother!? Mom?” he gasped finally, “Is that you??!!”

      “It’s me, Robert... your mother”, the woman replied quietly. “Stay calm now. I‘m just here for a little visit.”

      Robert Allman still couldn’t believe what he is seeing.

      “Mama, we buried you down at Fellowship Baptist nine years ago.

     “Well, I’m here now. And I’m talking to my son,” the woman said calmly, taking his arm. “Come on and walk with me a ways. I don’t have long.”

      For a moment, he hesitated. He still couldn’t believe his eyes.

      “Come on!” the woman said, tugging on his arm. “Don’t be afraid. I AM your mother.”

      For a brief moment, he burst out in giddy laughter. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

      “I can’t believe it mom,” he said. “I just can’t believe it,” he said again. “Oh, God! I’m so glad to see you.”

      “It’s good to see you too,” she said with a loving smile. “Now come on and walk with me."

    Calmer now, forty-two-year-old Robert Allman, holding the three roses and the sack of jawbreakers, started walking down the street with the elderly woman holding his arm.

      “How you been doing?” she asked. “How’s little Johnny and Clara. I’ll bet Johnny is a big boy now.”

    “He’s 12.” Robert replied. “He wants everything he sees. When I growing up, I was lucky to get one jawbreaker. He has to have five, two sour grape and three lemon, no less.”

      “Yeah, that’s the way you were when you were his age. I remember how you worked cutting lawns all summer to get that catcher’s mitt when you were his age.”

      He looked at the woman and smiled.

     “That glove was burned up in the old clubhouse we had down in the woods,” he laughed. "Me and Billy Herman had a built a fire in an old stove and went down to the creek. When we smelled the smoke, we went running back up the hill. I tried to save the mitt, but the clubhouse and the glove were already gone.”

     Robert laughed out loud at the memory.

     “I hadn’t thought about that for a long time,” he said.

     “And Clara? Are you and her getting along?”

   “Yeah,” he said finally. “We are doing okay, I guess. She’s just so bossy.  She orders me around like I’m a puppy dog. But she’s a good mother to our son, so I don’t say anything.”

     “How’s she doing with the diabetes?”

   “Oh, she’s fine,” he answered. “If she takes her insulin, she’s fine. We always keep orange juice in the fridge in case of emergencies.”

     “You look good, Robert,” the woman said. “You look healthy and happy with yourself."

     “Oh, I feel good, mama. I love my job at the plumbing supply. I’ve been doing it a while.”

      “Are you saving any of it?”

     “I’m trying, mama.  I’ve got a retirement plan at work, we own the house on Chestnut Street now and Clara is talking about opening a savings bond account at her work.”

    “That’s good,” the woman said. “No matter what they say about money, in times of trouble it can’t be beat. Money gives you freedom. You don’t want to be broke in this day and age.”

       The two walked quietly.

       “When was the last time you were at the old house down at Oakwood?”

     “Oh, it’s been a while, mama," he replied. “You know the gas company bought that land six or seven years ago. Right where the old house used to stand there is a big tank that holds natural gas.

       “Me and your daddy built that house when you were five," she reminisced. "I remember my cousin Alvin came over to help us dig out of the tree roots so we could lay the foundation. I handed the concrete blocks up to your daddy one at a time," she said with a sigh. "I guess nothing stays the same...."

       The two walked quietly.

       “What about your sister Edna? Is she OK?”

       “I don’t know, mama,” he replied. “ I don't know where she is. After the estate was settled, she met up with a lawyer over in Reedsville and she said they were going up to St. Louis. I haven’t heard from her in five, maybe six years…. She never wrote… she never called....”

       The mother didn't reply at first.

       “I hope that wherever she is she’s happy, healthy and at peace with herself…,” she said finally.

       Robert Allman looked at his mother and said nothing.

       The two walked quietly. They were nearing the corner where he was due to meet his wife.

       “When was the last time you cleaned off your daddy’s grave?”

       He stopped and drew a deep breath.

    “Now mama, you know me and daddy never got along,” he said. “He never had time for me. He was always busy with work and his friends and everything else but me. You know that.”

      “That doesn’t matter,” he said. "He’s still your father.”

       He turned quickly to his mother.

    “Mom! You know that YOU were the one I loved. It was your arms I ran to. It was your bosom that I clung to. It was your voice that soothed me in  times on trouble. It was you I went to when I was hurting or hungry or needed support. It was YOUR arms where I felt warmth and comfort and support and love….”

       He stopped for a moment.

      The woman looked at her son sympathetically, saying nothing.

      “Then, as I grew older,” the son continued, “Other arms reached out to hold me…….”

      Suddenly, realizing what he had said, he stopped, overcome with emotion.

      He looked as his mother and his eyes began to fill with tears.

      They stopped walking. The mother turned to face her son.

    “It’s OK, Robert,” the mother said consolingly, reaching up and taking the much larger man into her small arms. "It's okay, baby.... It's okay, baby... it's ok."

      For a brief moment, the two hugged one another tightly.

      "Mama..... I've missed you so much...," he said, clinging tightly to the woman.

      "I know, baby.... I know," she replied.

      "I've always loved you so, so much" he said.

      "I know, baby," she said. "I know."

      Finally, the woman broke the embrace.

      “I’m so glad to see you, mom,” he said tearfully. “I've missed you so much.”

      “And I've missed you too....” she replied.

      Then she stepped back from her son.

     “Well...," she said. "I’ve got to go now.”

     “Go!!??...” he asked, a frantic tone in his voice. “Where are you going?”

     “Oh, I’ve got to go back...,” she said. “They only let me come for a visit.”

     “But…but…”, he said.

     “Bye, Robert…” the woman said sadly. “I love you.”

     Then, as Robert Allman watched helplessly, the woman walked quickly to the building at the corner and turned up the street.

      “Mom! Mother!” he yelled frantically. “Mom! Mom!” he yelled again.

       Desperately, he ran to the corner and looked up the street.

       The street was empty.

      He looked around frantically.  He looked across the street and back down the street toward the drug store. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Then,  holding the sack of candy in one hand and the roses in the other, he put his hands to his face and began sobbing. Then he fell to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably for several seconds. Then he suddenly realized where he was. Instantly, he stood up. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He straightened his tie. He looked down at his dress pants. There was gravel and dirt at the knees. He dusted them off hastily. He inspected the roses. They were fine. Then he took a deep breath and looked up the street. He could see the family car approaching.

      The car stopped. The son already had the car’s back window rolled down and was reaching for the candy. Robert handed the bag to his son then got into the car.

      “Oh, no!!” the wife said disappointedly upon seeing the roses.

       "Alma didn’t have any more whites...,” he explained.

      “So what are we going to do?” the wife asked.

      “We’ll just have to play like daddy’s mama is alive today,” little Johnny suggested.

      “What?!” the mother asked.

      “Let dad wear the red rose like his mother is alive….,” the son said. “What’s wrong with that?”

     “Well, it IS kind of tacky…” she said thoughtfully. “But since that’s all we’ve got…. Ok,” she said finally, “I guess the red will have to do….”

      In the back seat, Johnny opened the bag of jawbreakers.

      “Wow, Dad!” the son said excitedly, looking inside. “That’s exactly what I wanted. You did great!”

       “Yeah” the father said with a smile, “I DID do pretty good!”

       With that, the father looked back at his son and laughed out loud.

      “Ok, you two,” the woman said sternly, “Y’all hush up so I can drive… “We don’t want to be late for church on Mother’s day.”

More Favorite Quotes

   Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate.
     Our deepest fear is that we are too powerful beyond measure.
     It is our light, not our darkness, which frightens us the most.
     We ask ourselves: "Who am I to be so brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?"
     Actually, who are you not to be?
     You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
     There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
     We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
     It is not just in some of us, it is in everyone and, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
     As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

                                                                                                     -  Nelson Mandela

     Follow love and it will flee, flee love and it will follow thee.
                         
                                                                                                    -  Chinese Proverb
  

Jon Stewart in FULL of CRAP!

   All he cares about is getting ratings!

   He made Cramer a scapegoat/CNBC for the sake of his show.

   Even if CNBC has started warning of the collapse ahead of time, there is no guarantee that the investing public would have taken heed.

   Cramer is a master investor and has proven it with his show.

   All of his stock predictions don’t come true.

   I don’t expect them to. I now how fickle the market can be.

   I will listen to the opinions of the so-called "pundits", but I would NEVER run out and start buying/selling based on their opinions.

   The most valuable asset Cramer offers the public is a perspective on investing which is unique, flexible and the result of a very-experienced eye.

   When I invest, my final decision is based solely on what I think, not what Cramer or CNBC or the alley cat across the street thinks or says.

   That way, I have nobody to blame but me for any losses.

   Suppose that Becky Quick and Joe Kiernan and David Faber et al had started saying: ”Get out of the market now! The financial system is about to collapse!! Shares of Bank of America and Citigroup are headed to single digits!”…. I would not have converted my entire financial sector into cash.

   Stewart made Cramer a scapegoat for the frustrations most Americans are feeling as a result of the meltdown.

   The meltdown and the anger that has grown out of massive swindles on Wall Street has created a hunger for vengeful finger-pointing by the investing public.

   All Stewart did in the Stewart vs. Cramer show was provide fodder for the blame-game.

   He was feeding the hungry!

   And he KNEW it!

Sir Isaac Newton Would Be SOOOOO Proud!

      Oh, if Sir Isaac Newton were alive today he would be so proud that human beings had come up with a contraption—a computer--which validates all of the high-flying mathematical calculations he was putting together in the late 17^th century.

      The basis for all computer functionality is mathematics. A computer is essentially an intricately-woven embroidery of mathematical systems which reference one another.

      Take storage, for instance. All hard drives store data in numbered locations and mathematical algorhithms locate and deliver this data to the user.

      Loading data into memory, the basic functionality which makes all computers work, requires precise mathematical calculations. A single misplaced digit and data won’t load.

      The seven layers of the TCP/IP stack--the basic programming which enables the internet—is an intricately-woven fabric of interlocking mathematical calculations. One of the true majesties of the TCP/IP stack is that the last 3 layers use three totally different numerical notation systems and each interfaces perfectly with the other not only within that layer,  but across the layers above it and below it.

        At layer 3, the network addressing layer, decimal notation—numbers based on 10-is used to assign addresses to nodes and networking devices. At layer 2, which provides authentication to passing packets and preps the data to be put on the wire, MAC addresses are in hexadecimal notation which are 16-based numbers. At layer 1, the point at which data is actually placed on the wire, everything is translated into binary, a numerical system based on the number 2.  Binary is the basic notational system of all computing.

        I suspect that, in the late 1600s when he was toiling away at his great work, the Principia Mathematica, Sir Isaac had to wonder if the masses would ever make practical use of his superhuman mathematical expressions.

       The great genius had to wonder just how future generations would use this great knowledge. In my heart, I don’t believe that he ever imagined that the common man would ever have a contraption called a computer.

       Well, Sir Isaac, if you were alive today and witnessed modern man with his networked desktops, his speciality laptops, his Ipods, his blackberries, his hand-helds and his cell phones, you would know that all your great discoveries were not in vain.

        You would be so proud… oh, so very, very proud.

In Memory of A.E. Housman (1859-1936)

       When I was one-and-twenty
        I heard a wise man say,
        "Give crowns and pounds and guineas
        But not your heart away;
        Give pearls away and rubies
        But keep your fancy free."
        But I was one-and-twenty,
        No use to talk to me.

                                          From "When I was One-and-Twenty"

In Memory of Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)

      "So on we worked, and waited for the light,
      And went without meat, and cursed the bread;
      And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
      Went home and put a bullet through his head."

                                                         From "Richard Cory"

Bob Marley Did Not Invent Reggae!

    My grandson says Bob Marley is the end all and be all of Reggae. He says with songs like “No Woman, No Cry”, “Redemption Song” and “Jammin’, there is no other Reggae and the subject was closed.

    “That’s like saying Elvis invented rock and roll,” I protested. “Elvis the pelvis merely only built upon the music that went before him. All of human history is the result of each new generation extending the previous generation. Marley didn’t invent Reggae just like Elvis didn’t invent rock and roll.”

    He looked at me as if I were full of crap.

    “Bob Marley was only great because he built upon the works of Jimmy Cliff, the Melodians, Desmond Dekker, Scotty and especially Toots and the Maytals,” I continued. “Any creative person can only built upon the foundations they were laid for him.”

    My grandson started shaking his head and laughing with self-righteousness.

    “You think your generation in the be all and end all of human history,” I said.

    The minute I said that I knew that statement was all TOO true because I just like him when I was his age.

    He smiled and gave me one of those "I-love-you- but- you're wrong!" looks.

    With that, I popped Jimmy Cliff’s “Harder They Come” into the CD player.

    We listened to “Rivers of Babylon”, “Sitting in Limbo”, "Many Rivers to Cross” and “Pull the Brakes”.  As we listened, I explained how the various combinations of voice and music, rhythm, harmony and melody compared to songs like “Redemption Song”, “I Shot the Sheriff”, "No Woman, No Cry" and “Jammin'”.

    ‘That’s some good Reggae,” he said when I finally took out the CD.

    I continued by diatribe.

    “Sir Isaac Newton once said: ’I have stood on the shoulders of giants…’ meaning he was who he was because he had built upon the works of Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and others. In later years, Einstein would stand on the shoulders of Newton and all of the others who went before him. It’s like Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and Alexander the Great. Each one’s greatest is measured by how much he built upon the works of his predecessor.”

     He looked at me and didn’t say anything at first.

     “I don’t know much about Aristotle…” he replied apologetically.

     There was a dead silence between us.

    After a while, he looked over thoughtfully at me and said: ”Who did you say the other guy was?”

    “What guy?”

     “Cliff…,” he said. “The guy that Bob Marley built on….”

     “Jimmy Cliff!” I replied quickly.

     He looked at me and didn’t say anything.

     Maybe he learned something after all!

 

 

In Memory of Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849)

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

                                                    From "Annabel Lee"

Tebow Deserved Another Heisman!

   Sports has a truth to it which reason cannot imagine.

   Men spend their lives trying to discover truth and the nature of reality, but sports produces a blunt cold truth which extends beyond human reason. It proves superiority in the most majestic, truly irrefutable manner.

    Never has superiority been demonstrated more convincingly than Tim Tebow’s performance during last week’s Florida/Oklahoma game.

    Since we know that football is an art form which human beings have created to release their aggressions, modern college football is a civilized form of war. Human beings can release their aggressions without killing one another.

    If football is war, then Tim Tebow is Achilles. He has proven his true mastery of football against his toughest opponents over the past two years

    But the Heisman committee didn’t think so.

    They didn’t want Tebow hogging the spotlight two years in a row. They needed some fresh blood. After all, Tebow set a precedent last year when he won the Heisman as a sophomore. The Heisman folks decided:”Wasn’t that enough? Who does this guy think he is?”

    Not that Sam Bradford is not a great quarterback and a great football player. It’s just that, if the Heisman trophy pretends to select the best college football player in the land, then it should go to the BEST.

    Last Thursday night, Tebow led his troops to a resounding victory over the Heisman winner and his fellow soldiers.

    The Heisman Committee didn’t believe—or didn’t want to believe—just how good Tebow is.

    Of course, it’s pretty stupid for the Heisman committee to pick the winner before the season ends. It’s like critiquing an actor for his performance before the play has ended.

    In this case, TRUE greatness went unrecognized and the Heisman committee missed the boat.

    Let’s see what happens in 2009!